"General Macias, I want you to meet my future wife," Luis Cervantes
said with great emphasis as he led a beautiful girl into the dining
room.
They all turned to look at her. Her large blue eyes grew wide in
wonder. She was barely fourteen. Her skin was like a rose, soft, pink,
fresh; her hair was very fair; the expression in her eyes was partly
impish curiosity, partly a vague childish fear. Perceiving that
Demetrio eyed her like a beast of prey, Luis Cervantes congratulated
himself.
They made room for her between Luis Cervantes and Blondie, opposite
Demetrio.
Bottles of tequila, dishes of cut glass, bowls, porcelains and vases
lay scattered over the table indiscriminately. Meco, carrying a box of
beer upon his shoulders, came in cursing and sweating.
"You don't know this fellow Blondie yet," said War Paint, noticing the
persistent glances he was casting at Luis Cervantes' bride. "He's a
smart fellow, I can tell you, and he never misses a trick." She gazed
at him lecherously, adding:
"That's why I don't like to see him close, even on a photograph!"
The orchestra struck up a raucous march as though they were playing at
a bullfight. The soldiers roared with joy.
"What fine tripe, General; I swear I haven't tasted the like of it in
all my life," Blondie said, as he began to reminisce about "El Monico"
at Chihuahua.
"You really like it, Blondie?" responded Demetrio. "Go ahead, call for
more, eat your bellyful."
"It's just the way I like it," Anastasio chimed in. "Yes, I like good
food! But nothing really tastes good to you unless you belch!"
The noise of mouths being filled, of ravenous feeding followed. All
drank copiously. At the end of the dinner, Luis Cervantes rose, holding
a champagne glass in one hand, and said:
"General..."
"Ho!" War Paint interrupted. "This speech-making business isn't for me;
I'm all against it. I'll go out to the corral since there's no more
eating here."
Presenting Demetrio with a black velvet-covered box containing a small
brass eagle, Luis Cervantes made a toast which no one understood but
everyone applauded enthusiastically. Demetrio took the insignia in his
hands; and with flushed face, and eyes shining, declared with great
candor:
"What in hell am I going to do with this buzzard!"
"Compadre," Anastasio Montanez said in a tremulous voice. "I ain't got
much to tell you...."
Whole minutes elapsed between his words; the cursed words would not
come to Anastasio. His face, coated with filth, unwashed for days,
turned crimson, shining with perspiration. Finally he decided to finish
his toast at all costs. "Well, I ain't got much to tell you, except
that we are pals...."
Then, since everyone had applauded at the end of Luis Cervantes'
speech, Anastasio having finished, made a sign, and the company clapped
their hands in great gravity.
But everything turned out for the best, since his awkwardness inspired
others. Manteca and Quail stood up and made their toasts, too. When
Meco's turn came, War Paint rushed in shouting jubilantly, attempting
to drag a splendid black horse into the dining room.
"My booty! My booty!" she cried, patting the superb animal on the neck.
It resisted every effort she made until a strong jerk of the rope and a
sudden lash brought it in prancing smartly. The soldiers, half drunk,
stared at the beast with ill-disguised envy.
"I don't know what the hell this she-devil's got, but she always beats
everybody to it," cried Blondie. "She's been the same ever since she
joined us at Tierra Blanca!"
"Hey, Pancracio, bring me some alfalfa for my horse," War Paint
commanded crisply, throwing the horse's rope to one of the soldiers.
Once more they filled their glasses. Many a head hung low with fatigue
or drunkenness. Most of the company, however, shouted with glee,
including Luis Cervantes' girl. She had spilled all her wine on a
handkerchief and looked all about her with blue wondering eyes.
"Boys," Blondie suddenly screamed, his shrill, guttural voice
dominating the mall, "I'm tired of living; I feel like killing myself
right now. I'm sick and tired of War Paint and this other little angel
from heaven won't even look at me!"
Luis Cervantes saw that the last remark was addressed to his bride;
with great surprise he realized that it was not Demetrio's foot he had
noticed close to the girl's, but Blondie's. He was boiling with
indignation.
"Keep your eye on me, boys," Blondie went on, gun in hand. "I'm going
to shoot myself right in the forehead!"
He aimed at the large mirror on the opposite wall which gave back his
whole body in reflection. He took careful aim....
"Don't move, War Paint."
The bullet whizzed by, grazing War Paint's hair. The mirror broke into
large jagged fragments. She did not even so much as blink.